


Switcher

by disaster_imp



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angry Dandelion, Dubious Consent, Geraskier, Hurt/Comfort, It's a NetFix, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Protective Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disaster_imp/pseuds/disaster_imp
Summary: Book Gerlion x Netflix Geraskier crossover.Jaskier is mad at Geralt and inadvisably takes an unknown potion, temporarily trading places with Dandelion.Thanks to DustyCrow for providing regular read-throughs and edits and being the best encouragement I could ask for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 231
Kudos: 1103
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Really, Jaskier?

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist: anything and everything from The Amazing Devil.
> 
> Content warnings: Specific warnings will appear in the summary at the start of each chapter. PLEASE let me know if there are things i miss, 
> 
> In general: I swear a lot. Dubious consent for the situation they find themselves in in ch1. Later chapters contain references to an implied D/s relationship, rough sex, powerplay and rope play, but theres no explicit smut (sorry, probably!) sex scenes are fade to black.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier drinks a random cocktail given to him by a witch he doesn't know, because of course he does.
> 
> Dubious consent: Although they both would consent, Book Geralt and Netflix Jaskier don't realise at first, so they aren't given the choice.

**Jaskier**

Jaskier sat, staring at the small, intricately crafted bottle the strange witch had pressed into his hand.

“Jaskier. This is for you. Don’t waste it,” she’d said, before merging into the crowd. He’d asked around, but nobody in the town seemed to have any knowledge of a witch such as he described.

‘Dandelion’, an elegant script on the label claimed. That was… weird. He’d considered Dandelion as an English alternative to his preferred name, but Geralt had _laughed_ at him and he kept Jaskier. Perhaps it meant the potion was made from dandelions. Dandelion wine? Why would anyone put wine in such a tiny bottle?

How was he supposed to interpret wasting something he didn’t know how to use? Did he drink it all? Use a drop at a time? Did it need to be used under specific conditions? Could he trust it? A strange potion, delivered by an unknown witch, lacking instruction. What could possibly go wrong?

Jaskier shot a long glare at Geralt’s back, uncorked the bottle and downed it in one gulp.

The world twisted. Beyond his control, his throat was crying out with pleasure as he found himself being thoroughly fucked.

Long white hair. Face buried in his neck, rumbling, wordless vocalisations. _Geralt_? Whoa. Hnnng. He’d… how much time had he lost? They’d clearly being going at it for a while, and was this even the same room? And _Melitele’s tits, it felt good_ , who was he to deny the opportunity presenting itself?

Jaskier let out another guttural moan, allowing himself to be swept away by the sensations storming through his body.

Geralt gently extricated himself and rolled back while they both caught their breath.

“I’m not objecting, mind you, but where did that come from?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt looked at him through yellow eyes, eyebrows drawn down in confusion. “Where did what come from?”

 _Not Geralt_ , Jaskier’s mind registered, and he scrambled up the bed.

“What the _FUCK_? Wh-who are you? What have you done with my witcher? And… and where the hell are we?”

The man who wasn’t Geralt stared at him in consternation.

“Dandelion? I don’t…”

“Who is Dandelion?”

“You. Usually.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Jaskier.”

“You translated it, you chose Dandelion over Buttercup.”

“I didn’t. I considered it, Geralt _laughed_ at me and I stuck with Jaskier. How would you know that, and _why did we just have sex?_ Not that you aren’t… incredibly… hnhh… _hot_ …” Jaskier trailed off as he took in the sight of the well-built and very – _very_ – attractive naked man lying in the bed next to him.

“I… laughed at you? My love, I would _never_. And it’s hardly the first time we’ve had sex. Dande- _Jaskier_ , I think I know what’s going on. Have a look in the mirror.”

Geralt put his hands up to show Jaskier he meant no harm. As if Jaskier could defend himself against such a large, muscular, _stunning_ … human. Person. _Witcher_. Well, he was here now. Wherever here was. If the very sexy not-Geralt wanted to hurt him, he didn’t have to use deception to do it.

Jaskier rose from the bed and made his way to a mirror hanging above a desk, and gaped at what he saw. He tried to remember what he was supposed to look like, in a mirror, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you expected to have to remember. Still, it certainly wasn’t _this_. His body seemed to have all the right parts. A little shorter. And… prettier. Less hair on his chest. Shoulder-length blonde curls framed his face. That was new.

“Next question. Who the fuck am I?”

Before not-Geralt could answer, Jaskier spotted the lute and went to examine it. Almost the same as his own. Magnificent craftsmanship, every bit as exquisite as the one Filavandrel had insisted be given him, and he plucked at the strings experimentally. Lovely sound, too.

“Is this some kind of witchy joke?” he demanded. “Where did this come from?”

The white-haired man that wasn’t Geralt was smiling at him fondly. “Filavandrel. Well, Toruviel, technically, but you _do_ refer to it as a gift from the king.”

Jaskier was almost tempted to strike the man with the lute, but it was a precious thing, even if it wasn’t his. He carefully put it back in its place before turning to the other still-naked man that was wearing Geralt’s hair.

“You have Geralt’s scars, but you look different. Your face is thinner. Softer. _Kind_. You… care for me?”

The man nodded. “I _am_ Geralt. I believe you’ve switched timelines. And yes, I care for you greatly.”

“My Geralt would never say that,” Jaskier said sadly.

“Jaskier, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was sitting in our room, staring at your – _his_ back. We had fought, I was nursing a grudge and I took a potion. Suddenly I was here, in a different room, with a different Geralt, one who was making me feel very nice indeed.”

Geralt couldn’t hold back a smirk. “I’m glad you think so. The potion though. Anonymous witch in a marketplace, perhaps? You fought with your Geralt and you just… took it? Without knowing what the consequences would be?”

“I did. I didn’t think I had anything to lose. How do you know all this?”

“It’s happened before. You’re the third, a slightly different Jaskier each time, always one whose Geralt has yet to come to his senses. My version of Jaskier, my Dandelion, will be currently inhabiting your reality. It will last a day or so, if it’s consistent. Come here, let me look at you.”

Jaskier did as he was bid, and faced the piercing gaze that was so much like his Geralt’s, and yet not.

“You’re hurting,” Geralt said. “I don’t like to see you suffer. May I…?”

Geralt held out a hand, and Jaskier nodded. He closed his eyes when he felt fingers brush his cheek, and that little bit of comfort had his eyes brimming with tears for everything he wanted, but couldn’t have with _his_ Geralt. He tried to stop them, the last thing he needed was to let his guard down in front of a stranger, but before he knew it, a strong pair of arms was pulling him close, fingers stroking his hair, and the dam broke.

Jaskier cried, sobbing desperately into Geralt’s shoulder while he stroked and soothed, and, dammit, _loved_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think, should I keep working on this? What would you like to see happen? ^.^
> 
> Edit: ok, this got a lot more attention much faster than I expected, you amazing things. I'll keep writing, the next chapter will be Dandelion/Netflix Geralt.


	2. Not exactly Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dandelion is Not Amused.

**Dandelion**

Everything _shifted_ , and Dandelion let out another moan of carnal pleasure before his new reality registered. A hot, angry tension was burning across his neck and shoulders. He blinked at a small bottle in his hand. _Dandelion_ , the label read. He was sitting upright, fully clothed. Exquisite tailoring – the stitching on his doublet was intricate, if the color a little muted for his taste.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, sounding rather more like Geralt than himself. He spotted a mirror across the room and went to investigate, prodding at the unfamiliar face. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt said from behind him.

“Um… sort of?” Dandelion replied, waving the small bottle at the witcher and studying him in turn.

Long white hair, that seemed to be consistent. Yellow eyes, angular features, this one had a cleft in his chin that was a fraction too cute to be intimidating. Quite handsome really, in a ruggedly bad-tempered sort of way.

“What is that?” Geralt asked.

“Potion, by the look of it. Yennefer's doing, most likely. Did you upset your bard? He drank this. A minute ago, I was having a perfectly lovely time with a witcher’s dick buried deep inside me and suddenly I find myself _here,_ and _extremely_ disappointed. Geralt, I presume?”

Geralt nodded cautiously, checking his swords. “Who are you, if not Jaskier?”

“I am called Dandelion. Jaskier, yes, but from another timeline. Leave the swords, you won’t hurt your bard. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Prove it,” Geralt demanded.

“Difficult. I can convince you that I am _a_ Jaskier, but not that I am not _yours_ playing some game. I can only suggest that he would never do such a thing to you, and you should _know_ that.” Dandelion said, picking up Jaskier’s lute, admiring the craftsmanship. So very like his own.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been pulled into another timeline. This seems to be consistent, it was a gift from the king of the elves. I repaid him by writing a terribly insolent version of events, and you chastised me for my lack of respect. Would you like me to sing it for you? Or – here, perhaps you recognize the potion he took? It even has my _name_ on it.”

Geralt’s frown deepened. “I don’t. Where did you get that?”

“ _I_ didn’t. I told you, I just got here, this was your bard’s doing. Oh! I know. I can tell you how you got that scar, the one you never talk about. Does your Jaskier know about Renfri? _Everything_?”

“How do _you_ know that?” Geralt growled, still trying to figure out if this was some kind of trick. “Doppler?”

“If I were a Doppler, I’d have Jaskier’s memories, not yours. If I wanted to hurt either of you, I’d just pretend to be him, instead of trying to convince you of something that sounds so ridiculous. Test me with silver, I’m not a monster.”

Geralt tossed him a coin, but something else the bard had said was eating away at him. “Wait. Witcher’s dick? _What_ witcher?”

“Yours,” Dandelion said with a heavy sigh as he caught the coin. “Well, my reality’s version of you. I’m glad I didn’t wake up here with _your_ dick inside me, that’s for sure, but – _oh_. Oh dear. I suspect _your_ Jaskier will be feeling rather well-fucked right about now. Gods, I was so close. I hope he enjoys himself, I doubt you extend him the same courtesy.”

“Our relationship isn’t like that,” Geralt said, managing to sound offended.

“Why not?” Dandelion asked with deceptive mildness. “Do you not find this human attractive, his song sweet, his endless chatter more endearing than you let on?”

Geralt wheezed.

“You do! So what is the problem then? Does he not return your feelings?”

Geralt swallowed and looked away, guilt coloring his expression ever so slightly. Most humans wouldn’t have noticed, but Dandelion had been in tune with his own witcher for a very long time.

“I see. He does, doesn’t he? The problem is _you_.” Dandelion’s tone changed, his eyes darkening, and he prowled closer to Geralt. “Well, _dear witcher_ , you and I are going to have a problem. You see, I _know_ how your Jaskier feels about you, and I imagine that right about now, _my_ Geralt is comforting that poor, heartbroken boy in ways you have only ever dreamed of.”

Geralt winced.

“You care? You, who have rebuffed his advances, spurned his love, neglected his needs _for decades_ in favor of your isolation, your independence, _now_ you pretend to care? No doubt you’ve kept him dangling just far enough away to come running whenever you call. I ask, would you be jealous if another witcher lavished your sweet bard with the attention he deserves? What if he were to be brought undone over, and over, and over again, by a man who knows how to untie every fine thread holding him together, while a witcher’s stamina makes sure he is satisfied in _every_ possible way?”

Dandelion saw Geralt’s jaw clench. He tilted his head to one side, lowering his voice to a husky whisper and dragged a finger slowly down the side of his own throat.

“Perhaps he is nuzzling into this lovely neck right now, soothing it with gentle kisses, nipping and twisting, _tasting him…_ ”

Dandelion closed his eyes and let out a small moan of frustrated desire at being so rudely yanked away from his pleasure. When he opened them again, Geralt was staring at him with what could only be described as hunger. Dandelion pressed the witcher back against the wall and moved close, almost touching their bodies together, until he felt the witcher tremble. Oh, this witcher _responded_ to this body whether he wanted to or not, and Dandelion knew he could make him sing, if he chose to. He let his mouth hover over Geralt’s lips for just a moment before taking a step back.

“I don’t think so,” Dandelion said. “I might look like your Jaskier, _smell_ like him, but I am not him. The only thing you are getting from this body, as long as I inhabit it, is remorse for your neglect. Perhaps, if you are lucky, your poor, ill-used bard will take pity on you once this potion wears off.”

Dandelion’s stomach rumbled, and he looked down. “It seems your bard is hungry. What’s for lunch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, I really struggled to do it justice. There's more to come, hopefully a little faster. Please let me know what you think!


	3. Dear Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little sweet fluff this round.  
> 

**Jaskier**

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier hiccoughed into Geralt’s bare chest.

Geralt held him close, one arm around his shoulders, the other stroking through his fine golden hair. Jaskier sniffled and blew his nose on one of Dandelion’s fancy handkerchiefs.

“Shhh. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m here for you. Anything you need. Here, come and lay down on the bed, we can talk, or I can just hold you if you prefer. Dear heart, if that man is not coveting you the way you deserve, there must be something terribly wrong with him,” Geralt replied, his voice almost becoming a growl at the end, his grip on Jaskier tightening.

Jaskier hesitated. “Would your Jaskier – Dandelion – not object?”

Geralt drew him over to the bed and sat with his back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. Jaskier settled in next to him, and Geralt put an arm around his shoulders again, pulling him closer when Jaskier leaned into him.

“No. Dandelion will be every bit as concerned for you as I am. He will be furious to have been jolted out of such an intimate moment.” The witcher huffed a short laugh at the thought. “In fact, I rather expect he’s going to take that out on _your_ Geralt. Especially once he finds out how poorly the man has treated you. Worry not, Dandelion will take him in hand.”

Geralt fully expected his counterpart to be on his knees begging for forgiveness by the time Jaskier returned. The idea of a world where he and Dandelion were apart was beyond his comprehension, something painful to consider, and it troubled Geralt that another version of himself was capable of causing Jaskier this much pain. Because, of course, it meant that under the right circumstances, _he_ was capable of doing the same to Dandelion.

“How – how did you meet?” Jaskier asked, pulling Geralt from his melancholy thoughts.

“Much the same as you, I imagine. Dandelion was attempting to evade a troupe of angry brothers after he slept with their sister.”

“Geralt was brooding in the corner of a tavern in Posada, I had bread in – my pants. He looked so sad. Lonely. I wanted… I don’t know, there was just something that drew me to him, something more than wanting a story to tell. I think I’ve only succeeded in making myself miserable.”

“Jaskier, if you travelled with him, you mattered to him. I was also reluctant to let anyone close. Dandelion was a regular feature in my life, but… it wasn’t until Borch conveyed a difficult truth, that he refused to let me wallow in my own self-pity. We’ve been lovers ever since.” Geralt smiled, memories of his time with Dandelion since that fateful day flitting through his mind.

“He sent me away, lashing out like a wounded animal,’ Jaskier said, the pain clear in his voice. “We made up again but – it hurt, and he’s still as distant as ever. I don’t know why I torture myself, I can’t seem to let him go.”

“You love him,” Geralt said simply. “He needs a push. Perhaps he is more stubborn than I, and perhaps you are rather more polite than my Dandelion. It was wrong of your Geralt to hurt you like that, but I am sure he loves you, _needs you_ , as much as you need him.”

Jaskier sighed. He pressed his fingers to Geralt’s chest, running them through the coarse hair and absent-mindedly stroking a scar before pulling his hand away, worried that he had overstepped a boundary. He froze in confusion. Here he was, cuddling – _naked_ – on a bed they’d recently had sex in, worrying about whether or not he was allowed to _touch_.

Geralt caught his hand and pulled it back. “Dandelion gave specific instructions, should this happen again. I am to give you whatever you need. _Anything_. You understand? Dandelion will bring your witcher to heel, but you, dear Jaskier, while you are here, you are to be cherished the way you deserve. I am loath to see you so miserable, knowing that I am, in a way, at fault. If things had been just a little different, if my Dandelion had been a little less selfish on that day – if he’d listened to me instead of calling me to account, I would be living your reality instead, and that tears at my heart.”

“You’re a little too good to be real. Is this a dream?” Jaskier asked, tracing the ridges of another puckered scar with his fingers.

“Think of it as such, if you wish. But we are four of us caught in it.”

“You talk a lot, for a Geralt.”

“It’s not always like this,” Geralt said with a smile. “Learning to do more than grunt took time.”

“What of me?” Jaskier asked.

“You haven’t changed much, but… you’re happy, here.”

Geralt brushed his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “I would do anything to relieve you of your sadness. You… we didn’t get much sleep last night, and you look tired. Rest, and have a think about what you want to do when you wake up. Today is yours.”

Geralt pressed a chaste kiss to Jaskier’s temple before pulling him down the bed and curling around him, one arm pillowing his head and the other wrapped around his waist.

“Is this okay?” he murmured in Jaskier’s ear. “If it’s too much, if you’re not comfortable, if you need something else...?”

“It’s perfect,” Jaskier whispered back, his eyes already closing as he drifted towards sleep, feeling strangely safe and warm, cocooned within the arms of a Geralt who loved him. A Geralt who wasn’t afraid to show it, even when he wasn’t quite the same Jaskier that this Geralt loved.


	4. Be a Good Boy, Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dandelion tries to get through to Geralt.  
> 

**Dandelion**

Clearing the last of the gravy from his plate with a crust of bread, Dandelion took receipt of a package from a boy he’d given a coin to earlier.

“Excellent. Let’s go,” Dandelion said cheerfully, making his way up the stairs and back to their room with a spring in his step. When Geralt stepped in behind him, Dandelion used his foot to trip him off balance, twisting an arm behind his back in one smooth movement.

 _“My_ Geralt taught me a thing or two. I can’t defeat him, but it seems I can surprise you,” he said, releasing Geralt again. “Now be a good boy and take a seat. We are going to talk.”

Geralt glared at him but, powerless to hurt Jaskier, sat in the chair that Dandelion pushed next to the bed. Dandelion picked up the lute and sat on the edge of the bed, plucking idly at strings. He adjusted the tuning a little, and started to sing. A catchy song of events that were familiar, but in a tune Geralt didn’t know.

“Your lark does have a sweet voice,” Dandelion said after a minute. Geralt sat in stony silence, and Dandelion placed the lute safely down before turning to face the witcher. “Geralt, why won’t you let him in? You love him. He loves you. He’s suffering. Gods, I can _feel_ it. Where does he…? Oh, here.”

Dandelion pulled Jaskier’s notebook from a stand next to the bed, and leafed through it. Geralt emitted a feral growl and moved to take it back, but Dandelion held it out of reach and stared him down with a scowl.

“Shut up. I wrote most of this with these hands and these eyes and this… tortured mind. Or I would have, if my Geralt was as much of an emotionally constipated asshole as you are.”

A few minutes later, the bard’s eyes were brimming with tears.

“Read it,” he said, jamming a page in front of Geralt’s face. “ _Read it, and tell me why you hurt him so badly._ ”

Geralt closed his eyes, but not before he had seen what Jaskier had written. His brows furrowed, the struggle to keep a hold on the whirlwind of emotions Dandelion was provoking taking a toll.

“Because one day, I’m going to get him killed. He might not like it, but he’s _alive_.”

“And you think that is living? Look at me. I’ve been travelling with Geralt on and off for nearly thirty years, and I’m still very much not dead.”

“The Djinn –”

“Attacked me. _Him_. Us?” Dandelion said. He paused, lips quirking into a soft smile at the memory. “I know, I was there. It’s when I first realized how deeply you cared for me. You dropped everything to save my _voice_. Not even my life, but my singing, because you knew what it meant to me. You would have done anything. You _did_. It’s why your Jaskier holds out hope even yet, why he suffers in silence –”

“I wouldn’t call it silence,” Geralt retorted.

“Why he _still_ follows you.”

“I _need him_ to be safe.”

“Yes, well done. Very authoritarian of you.” Dandelion rolled his eyes and pressed a finger into Geralt’s chest as he continued. “What about what _Jaskier_ needs? You’ve taken his choice away. _His_ _voice_. Do you even know how easy it is for me to get into trouble when you’re not around? I can’t help myself, I’m perfectly capable of getting stabbed in a duel with a jealous husband, or – wife, or roasted alive by an angry brother or father or lover, or poisoned, or hanged, or skinned alive. I was banished by a queen for my infidelity once, did you know that? There are any number of creative consequences for my unique combination of self-preservation and impulse control.”

“You don’t _have_ any impulse control. _Or_ a sense of self-preservation!” Geralt snapped.

“Yes, that’s what I just said,” Dandelion agreed, before sending in an attack from a different direction. “I know what you call him, in the unspoken recesses of your mind. _Little lark_.”

Geralt’s expression went almost completely blank, a hiss of breath and the slightest twitch of one eye giving the truth away.

“I know,” Jaskier said, his expression softening a little, “because that is what my version of you calls me. You’ve wasted so many years. What if he dies tomorrow, and your poor bard never gets a taste of what life is like, loving you? He deserves better, Geralt. _I deserve better_.”

Dandelion closed his eyes as emotion threatened to overwhelm him.

“You look like you’re… thinking, at least. I… I might not be your Jaskier, up here,” Dandelion said, tapping his forehead, “but this body… it hurts, and right now, it desperately needs to cry. I think I’d like it if you didn’t leave. Bear witness, even if you cannot bring yourself to provide comfort.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I have a few more chapters still in the works. Let me know how you think it's going, I'm a glutton for feedback ^.^


	5. How's my Singing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier decides what he wants. Probably. Maybe. And sings for Dandelion's audience, but we all know he's really singing for Geralt.

**Jaskier**

When Jaskier woke, Geralt – the other Geralt – was snoring lightly behind him, and it felt _right_. Their bodies melded comfortably together, warmth radiating between them. Geralt’s arm was still wrapped tightly around him, even in sleep. Jaskier lay there for a while, just enjoying the feeling, a quiet joy in his heart. There was still an ache there too, but this version of Jaskier… he could feel his happiness, how much his love for Geralt had grown over the years.

Trying not to disturb the sleeping witcher, Jaskier loosened the grip of the arm around his waist and turned himself over to study the man. He was more relaxed in sleep than he had ever seen his Geralt, and he couldn’t help but bring a hand up to touch his scarred cheek.

Geralt stirred, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, cracking his eyes open the tiniest golden slit. He reached a hand up to cup Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier felt the breath leave his lungs. Geralt nudged forwards and kissed him, slowly, tenderly. Jaskier whimpered slightly, unsure how to react, knowing the body he was inhabiting wanted to respond in kind.

Geralt pulled back, and Jaskier whined when he broke away.

Geralt apologized. “I forgot you’re not you.”

“Don’t.” Jaskier felt tears starting to form again. “I can feel how much he loves you, how much he _wants_ you, even after so many years together. I’m… I’m feeling… _complicated_ about that.”

Geralt kissed the tears from his eyes in turn, and with one large hand still gripping Jaskier’s neck, stroked at his cheek with a thumb.

“I am certain that your Geralt loves you, too, I can’t imagine a world in which he doesn’t. He wouldn’t be me, otherwise. No doubt he had some pigheaded idea about protecting you, keeping you safe. I believe these crossovers are happening for a reason. We’re meant to be, in any reality.”

“I hope so,” Jaskier sighed. “Geralt two, I’m – you’re – we’re still very… _naked_.”

“It’s my natural state around you,” Geralt said with a teasing grin, and Jaskier blushed.

Geralt propped himself up on an elbow. “I’ll dress, if it would make you more comfortable. Have you decided what you want to do today? I can offer suggestions based on what the other Jaskiers have wanted, if you like.”

“You’re fucking hot, and I _want_ you to tie me up and fuck me until I’m raw,” Jaskier blurted out, before blushing at his own audacity.

Geralt’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead, and he chuckled. “Well, I did say nothing was off the table. The others just wanted to know what it was like to feel _loved_.”

“That too, I guess. I had a taste this morning, and I want _more_. I want to know what I’m missing. Just once. If Geralt-one persists in being such a stubborn ox, I want to know I had one night.”

“If you wish,” Geralt agreed. “But first, we can spend the rest of the day together. Get dressed, bring the lute if you like. You usually appreciate the adoration of your fans, and there are bound to be some of those downstairs.”

Jaskier looked up in surprise. “There are?”

“Of course. They’re everywhere.”

Jaskier couldn’t scramble out of the bed fast enough, and Geralt chuckled again. Jaskier liked the sound it made, Geralt laughing. His Geralt rarely laughed, and he certainly never chuckled.

Geralt pulled on a pair of breeches and a loose white shirt. “In the inn, or out in the square by the fountain? It’s a nice day.”

“Fountain,” Jaskier replied, looking outside.

Geralt indicated the clothing laying across the back of a chair, and kissed him fondly on the cheek. “I’ll organize something to eat, and meet you there.”

Jaskier nodded and watched him go before turning to inspect the outfit. Beautiful tailoring, fashionable, even if the colors were verging on garish. He would never be mistaken for a _humble_ bard. A matching hat sporting a heron’s feather was carefully arranged on the seat of the chair. Jaskier dressed, and tested a sweeping bow in the mirror.

It would do.

He picked up the lute, testing the strings before making his way downstairs. Being past the hour for midday meals, the inn was sparsely populated but there were nevertheless calls for ‘Master Dandelion’ to play. Jaskier stopped to chat, promising a round of music in the evening. Geralt leaned back against the bar, watching the bard come to life under the attention.

When Jaskier made his way outside, Geralt picked up a basket filled with food and wine from the counter, following at a discrete distance. While Jaskier held court by the fountain, Geralt found a sheltered doorway on a bit of a rise from where he could see Jaskier, and at the same time watch the crowd for any threat to his person.

His first songs were familiar, ballads of adventures from before their time with the golden dragon. There were subtle differences, little things that would go unmarked by the casual audience, but Geralt was more intimately familiar with both Dandelion’s music and their shared stories. To finish, he sang a lament in the form of _Her Sweet Kiss,_ leaving more than one pair of eyes blinking away tears. Geralt winced a little at the last one, hoping that Yennefer wouldn’t catch wind of it.

Jaskier made his excuses, and Geralt moved toward him. People were less inclined to press Jaskier for more, with his witcher present.

“Well?” Jaskier asked, slinging his lute across his back.

“Well what?” Geralt asked, knowing full well what Jaskier wanted.

“Well, how’s my singing?” Jaskier asked, and although he looked calm, there was an anxious edge to his tone that Geralt didn’t like the sound of.

Honesty, perhaps, would be a better strategy than teasing.

“Beautiful,” Geralt replied with conviction, “as always. Some of your songs are almost identical to Dandelion’s. Some are quite different.”

“Beautiful. As always,” Jaskier repeated. “Not pie without filling, then?”

“No. What sort of a monster would say something like that?”

“The monster I want in my bed,” Jaskier said with a tense shrug. “Well, I’m famished.”

Geralt led the way to a quiet space in the shade of a tree for a meal that would both make up for lunch, and tide them past dinner. The innkeeper had packed bread and cold meat, cheese and fruit, and a skin of wine. Dandelion’s reputation extended to his love of fine food and drink, and although a small country tavern couldn’t cater to exotic tastes, it more than made up for it with fresh and hearty fare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments! Please deposit your tribute below (:


	6. Really, Dandelion?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song is mightier than the sword.

**Dandelion**

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, as Dandelion’s tears slowed to a stop.

“It’s not me you need to apologize to, old man.”

Geralt nodded. “I get it. I’m not –” he tried.

“I don’t know how –”

“Yes. You do,” Dandelion interrupted. “You’ll figure it out, just like we did. For the love of this man’s miserable existence, _figure it out_.”

“Is there anything you want to do for the rest of the day? I can go and play downstairs, if you want to be alone.”

Geralt hesitated.

“Jaskier won’t remember. Whatever I tell you, whatever you do. He won’t know unless you tell him, but you’re going to have to start opening up to him somehow. Why not practice on me?”

“Tell your stories,” Geralt said at last. “Songs, adventures, anything. I want to know what’s different. Or if you want to sing your ballads downstairs, I’ll sit and listen.”

“See, you _do_ know your way to a bard’s heart,” Dandelion said with a wink. “We can do both. Downstairs. With ale. _Move_.”

Geralt shook his head, a little bewildered at himself. “Why am I doing everything you say?”

Dandelion grinned. “There’s no magic. You like it. I’m guessing your Jaskier never tried. He cares too much, gives you space instead of calling you on your bullshit, hoping you’ll realize for yourself.”

“You’re saying he’s too _nice_?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Dandelion snorted. “He’s just… look. Things changed between us after we met Borch. Geralt was in pain. I tried to make light of it, and he started to take feelings he wasn’t handling out on me. He’d never done that before, and at first I thought – the kindest thing to do was to leave him alone. But when I turned to go, I got upset. Angry. What about _me?_ I wasn’t having it, I shouted right back at him, and after a bit of furious ranting at each other things turned heated in a different way. If Jaskier left you – and worse, if you didn’t go after him – if that were me, I would have been heartbroken. I doubt I could have forgiven you. Thinking that you loved Yenn so much – even if it wasn’t real – that you’d drive your only friend away? Your bard has probably been walking on eggshells around you ever since, hiding his pain behind humor. The thought of taking charge has probably never crossed his mind.”

Geralt went very quiet, and Dandelion could almost see the cogs turning.

“Come along,” he said, a little gentler than before as he opened the door, pulling the witcher along by the hand. “Ale and song. Oh! See, I _am_ a poet.”

Geralt huffed an almost laugh, and followed him through the door.

Some of the older songs Dandelion sang were familiar, almost word for word in their similarity to Jaskier’s. Almost. Not enough for the inn’s customers to notice, but to Geralt, who knew every word, every nuance by heart, the differences were there. The divergence began with a song about a golden dragon that was wild and joyful. _Heartache and longing and lust_ was the verse that rang inside Geralt’s skull instead.

Towards the end of the evening, Dandelion glanced at Geralt, a dangerous glint in his eye that caught Geralt’s undivided attention.

He carefully put down his lute and sang softly, a haunting tune, very different to his usual style. It told a story, but this was one that cut Geralt to his very core, and then kept cutting, deeper and deeper with every word. _The Rockrose and the Thistle_.

When Dandelion was done, he turned to pick up his lute, and by the time he looked back Geralt was gone. The tankard he had been drinking from was a crumpled mess, ale soaking into the rough wooden grain of the table. Dandelion slung his lute across his back and followed.

He found Geralt in the stables, forehead pressed to Roach.

“Sorry. I’m a bastard. Bard-stard, ha. I am sorry, Geralt. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know what effect that would have on you. I only ever put my voice to that piece once before. It’s incredibly beautiful. Powerful. Perhaps the best I’ll ever write, but… I couldn’t do it to him twice.”

Dandelion approached a silent Geralt from behind, wrapping one arm around his waist and reaching the other out to stroke Roach’s soft nose.

“This is the part where we don’t leave you alone.”

“We?” Geralt asked softly, without turning around, not wanting to disturb the arm around him in case it was taken away.

“Roach knows,” Dandelion replied.

Roach whickered her agreement and nudged Geralt, pushing him off balance and back into Dandelion’s arms.

“Traitor,” Geralt grumbled, but without malice.

“Come on,” Dandelion said, loosening his grip on Geralt as he regained his balance. “It’s getting late, and I’ve finished with the theatrics. I really did a number on you today, and emotions are exhausting. Even for you. You can be the little spoon tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, that's the last time I make Netflix-Geralt suffer. They'll be home sooooon (:
> 
> If you haven't checked them out yet: _The Rockrose and the Thistle_ is the first track from the [new album from Joey Batey's band, The Amazing Devil](https://theamazingdevil.bandcamp.com/album/the-horror-and-the-wild) and it fits the scene that broke our hearts like it was written for it. Maybe it was (; TAD are mindblowingly awesome, if you're new to them I recommend the Horror and the Wild or Welly Boots for a gentle introduction. Pad your hearts well, it's a ride. (They're also on iTunes and Spotify).  
> 


	7. Yes. No. Maybe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could I resist a bath scene, hmm?  
> Nearly there, just one more chapter to go to tie everything up.

**Jaskier**

The wine had been drunk, the food all eaten and the warmth of the day was fading by the time they returned to the tavern. Jaskier, as he had promised the locals, sang again. The crowd had grown as word spread of another performance by the famous bard, and Jaskier did not leave them wanting. By the time they retired for the night, Jaskier had more than earned their keep. The innkeep, grinning from ear to ear, tossed Geralt another skin of wine in appreciation as they squeezed their way through the crowd and up to their room.

Riding a high from his performance, his popularity, a flushed Jaskier placed the lute back in its corner and chattered away. Geralt helped him to doff his finery, chucking a finger under his chin.

“Is this still what you want, Jaskier?”

Jaskier raised his eyes to meet Geralt’s, unsure of himself. “Yes. Well, no. Ahhh. I don’t know. It’s not like I have enough morals for any moral objection, you know? It’s just. If you – if we – if I’m just being spiteful, I don’t think that’s really fair on _you_.”

“You’re not –”

“Oh darling, I definitely am,” Jaskier said matter-of-factly. “Don’t defend me. Not that my Geralt doesn’t deserve it. You don’t, though. You’ve been nothing but kind.”

Geralt ran his fingers through the fine blonde hair that flowed down to his lover’s shoulders. “You make it easy, Jaskier. In any reality. You’re easy to love.”

“I very much doubt that,” Jaskier said with a slight grimace, closing his eyes. “I have another idea. A bath. The wine. If we fall into something more, so be it. I think I know what to do when I get home, but here… I just want to enjoy the time that is left.”

The bath Geralt pushed into the center of the room was large enough for two. When everything was ready, Jaskier eased himself into scalding hot water, relaxing back against the edge with a sigh. Geralt knelt on the floor behind him and, taking great care, worked the day’s tangles out of his hair with a comb.

“The first time we did this, it was you in the bath while I washed selkimore guts off you,” Jaskier commented.

“Sounds about right,” Geralt said with a smile. He reached for the soap and a sponge.

“Get in,” Jaskier said.

Geralt spread his arms out along Jaskier’s and spoke softly into his ear. “Are you sure? You’ve already changed your mind twice.”

Jaskier tipped his head back and looked into Geralt’s eyes. “Yes. Just hold me. Get in.”

Geralt pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head and undressed while Jaskier watched from beneath hooded eyelids. He picked up the skin of wine and passed it to Jaskier before settling into the tub at Jaskier’s back. Jaskier leaned back into him with a soft sigh and Geralt stroked at his hair, tucking it behind his ear.

“You know, songbird, that’s the first real demand you’ve made all day.”

Jaskier hummed, then started to sing quietly. Geralt wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer, and Jaskier stroked his fingertips along the forearms that encased him, relaxing in the warm and gentle comfort until he felt something pressing firmly into his backside.

“Geralt? Is that –”

“It is. The thing about witcher trials,” Geralt rumbled, pressing a soft kiss into Jaskier’s neck just below his ear, “is that _all_ my senses are all heightened. The sound of your voice, the feel of my fingers in your hair, your skin against mine, your _smell_. It’s intoxicating.”

Jaskier turned his head to look up at Geralt in surprise. He took one of the witcher’s hands and traced slow circles on his palm with a feather-light touch. The response from behind him was immediate, and Geralt sighed into Jaskier’s ear.

“You’re more sensitive? _Everywhere_?” Jaskier asked.

“Everywhere,” Geralt confirmed. “Now, do you want to save your discoveries for my counterpart, get a head start, or just… torture me? I should think it’s obvious that I’m willing. Either way…”

Jaskier turned himself around with a deficiency of grace and a large amount of splashing until he was straddling Geralt’s lap. He dropped the skin of wine on the floor and cupped Geralt’s face in his hands.

“That might just be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard,” Jaskier breathed. “I want to see you come _undone_.”

When Jaskier woke in the morning, he was lying on his back with half his body exposed to the lingering chill of night. A rumpled sheet did an incomplete job of covering his hips, but against his other half, warmth emanated from a still-sleeping witcher pressed up against his length. Geralt was asleep on his stomach, one leg tangled between his own and the wayward sheet, an arm circling Jaskier’s waist and his head turned to rest above Jaskier’s shoulder. His warm breath, unnaturally slow in sleep, washed across Jaskier’s neck at regular intervals.

Trying not to disturb Geralt, he examined the body lying next to him. He would never understand how people often found Geralt unattractive, or intimidating. To Jaskier he was a beautiful work of art. Well-defined muscles were patterned with thick ropes of scar tissue criss-crossing his body in the form of injuries that were rarely properly tended, and they spoke of stories and history and _life_. Once again, his fingers were tracing scars before he realised what he was doing.

“Thank you,” he whispered when he felt Geralt’s fingers flex, squeezing into his hip. A warm kiss was pressed into his neck.

“Welcome, bard,” Geralt replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, I've been a little unwell. I hope this went in the direction you were hoping, I was so torn over which way to go! Feel free to praise or condemn me for my choices in the comments (;


	8. Hey, you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, things happen. Gosh, am I eloquent today.
> 
> Content warnings: no explicit descriptions, but there are references to D/s dynamics, rope play, control.

**Dandelion**

When Geralt woke in the morning, he was flat on his back with a warm weight that wasn’t coming from blankets draped across his chest. His mind cast about for context. They were both bare-chested, but he was at least partially clothed underneath the sheet that haphazardly covered his lower half. One arm was pillowing Dandelion’s head, the other holding the arm that circled his waist. It felt both wonderful and terrifying, and he held still, keeping his breathing slow and even so as not to disturb the pleasing warmth that curled around him. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to acknowledge his fear, the fear of losing Jaskier, the fear that had kept so much distance between them for so long. His own doing. His heart ached with regret, and a tear escaped to roll down his cheek.

 _Jaskier_ , the inside of his mind screamed.

Caught in his own turmoil, he failed to notice that Dandelion was awake until a hand reached out to brush at his tears. Geralt caught the errant hand in his, resting it on his chest. Dandelion nudged his head in closer and Geralt squeezed his hand. A glowing warmth grew within his chest, a counterpoint to the aching pain.

Dandelion pushed himself up, looking Geralt in the eyes and cupping his face in his hand. “Promise me something?” he asked, and Geralt nodded.

“Get over yourself. Don’t waste any more time.”

“I vow it,” Geralt responded.

Watching Geralt’s eyes for any sign of reluctance, Dandelion pressed his lips into Geralt’s, pleasantly surprised when Geralt engaged. He took a minute to savor his success before pulling back.

“Thank you,” Dandelion said, stroking his unique combination of soft and callused fingertips lightly across Geralt’s cheek. “I know I wasn’t easy on you.”

Geralt gave a crooked smile. “I think you know I wouldn’t have listened, otherwise. Can I ask you for something?”

Dandelion arched an eyebrow. “Have I not done enough?”

“You have done everything, and more, and the only way I have to repay you is to assure you that my promise will be kept, but... the song you sang, last night. I’d like Jaskier to know.”

“Oh.” Dandelion paused. That song, those lyrics. They opened wounds. To ask for that, Geralt had to be willing to confront some intense feelings, but to let Jaskier hear it, to let himself be so vulnerable? He’d done a more thorough job on this Geralt than he thought. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” Geralt confirmed.

“Well then,” Dandelion said, slapping Geralt’s stomach. “Why don’t you organize us something to break our fast with while I write it out.”

An hour later, bellies full, Dandelion put his scrawled notes together with the parcel he had obtained for Jaskier the day before, and placed them on a small table next to the bed.

“Make sure your bard gets this first thing,” he said with a glint in his eye. “No peeking. Now, back into bed. It won’t be long before he finds his way back to you, and I’d like things to be… perfect.”

Dandelion arranged Geralt to his satisfaction and they lay on the bed, just talking, until the room spun again and Dandelion was back sitting next to Geralt on the same bed he’d been taken from so forcibly the day before. _His_ Geralt. A tray with crumbs and scraps from breakfast sat across their laps, and Geralt had a hand resting on his thigh.

“Oh, am I glad to be back,” he said. “Untrained Geralts are bloody hard work.”

Geralt chuckled, squeezing Dandelion’s leg. “I had it easy. Poor Jaskier, he doesn’t know his own power yet.”

“Well, it did take _us_ a while to discover that dynamic,” Dandelion said with a leer and a wink. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out, I left them a hint. It looks like breakfast is done?”

Geralt nodded, dropping the tray on the floor, and Dandelion rolled over to straddle his hips. “Excellent! And were you _good_ , my dear heart?” he asked sweetly.

“ _Very_ good,” Geralt breathed, running his hands up underneath the chemise Jaskier had donned earlier.

“Tell me _everything_ ,” Dandelion demanded, kissing and biting his way down Geralt’s neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark and pausing to admire his handiwork. “Don’t stop talking, pet. _No matter what_.”

**Jaskier**

Jaskier blinked, and felt the room spin. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the bed propped up on one elbow, his free hand resting on a familiar, scarred chest. He flexed his fingers in coarse white hairs, and looked up at Geralt with wide blue eyes.

“Jask? _Jaskier_!” Geralt said, enfolding Jaskier in his arms.

“Um. Hi,” Jaskier replied with all the eloquence of a master bard.

“Jaskier –” Geralt started, and Jaskier pressed a finger to his lips.

“No. It’s… a lot. Too much. Talk later, I don’t want regret to... look, just would you shut up and kiss me? _Now_. Oh gods, I want to fucking kill you for being such a – _snnngghhhh_ …”

Geralt was staring into his eyes with such ferocious intensity that Jaskier forgot how to speak. When Geralt didn’t move quickly enough, Jaskier sat on his chest, pinning his wrists to the bed. He bent his head to claim Geralt’s lips with his own, gently at first, soon growing rough and needy. Geralt sighed deeply and flexed his arms to reach for Jaskier, but Jaskier growled and pushed him back. Geralt let Jaskier have his way with a chuckle, and Jaskier sat back in surprise at the sound.

“Jask, Dandelion left you something.”

“ _Now?_ ” Jaskier asked, frowning. Distractions were _not_ welcome.

“After the day he inflicted on me, I doubt you’ll regret the interruption. On the side table.”

Jaskier shot Geralt a warning glare, a silent instruction not to move. He picked the package up and placed it on Geralt’s chest to open. Geralt made another attempt to bring his arms up to hold Jaskier, and the bard scowled at him until he dropped his arms back down, hands resting beside his head. Geralt’s grizzled face relaxed into the most content smile Jaskier had ever seen on him, and he lost track of time, gazing into golden yellow eyes.

Geralt’s rumbling voice was slow to pierce Jaskier’s consciousness. “Open the parcel, Jask, or I’m going to flip you over and fuck you myself.”

Jaskier’s eyes flickered between Geralt and his package as if he wasn’t sure which was the greater prize. “If that’s meant to be a threat, it’s not a very good one,” Jaskier pointed out, pulling at the string. Out fell a bottle of oil and a long coil of soft hempen rope. Jaskier sat with his mouth open slightly, looking at the way Geralt was lying so still, so obedient, so _perfect_ on the bed, just for him.

“I think we have a kink, and it’s. Um. Not the one I was… anticipating,” Jaskier said at last, smile widening to a wickedly feral grin.

Geralt just watched him with the same soft, trusting smile, and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we made it! I had a lot of fun writing this. Thank you for coming with me on this journey and I hope the ending pleases you (;


End file.
